Bound for Glory (17 page)

Then she had to deal with a flurry of attempted punches aimed at her own breasts but fended them off and dug in a couple more stomach punches. There were studs there too and the girl doubled over and half turned away. Anna opened her right hand and delivered a heavy spank to the ripe, smooth buttocks, divided only by the strip of leather that went between her legs and which held the studded thong in place over her vulva. The crowd laughed and cheered as the girl straightened up and spun round, humiliated fury in her eyes, and she came for Anna swinging wildly. Anna had no choice but to play safe and back off, elbows held in, forearms up – as she had been trained to; guarding her front. And inevitably anger let the girl down. For a second she had both arms low and wide as she tried to punch through Anna’s guard and Anna pounced. This time she got both breasts with wicked jabs and the girl staggered and reeled away, her legs straddling as she tried to cope with the pain and pleasure. Anna moved in again and went for the uppercut between the legs. It landed solidly and there was a delighted ‘Oooooh!’ from the crowd. The girl doubled over again and turned away. This time Anna didn’t bother with a spank, she followed, waiting for the legs to part again. And sure enough they did. Anna pounced from behind, aiming for the pouch of the sex from between the buttocks. The girl screamed and fell forwards, up against the mesh, her arms raised and her hands holding the wire to keep herself upright. Staying up was all she could do now. To go down too quickly was the ultimate sin a girl could commit in the arenas. The show was what mattered, and losing too easily would see the culprit voted a heavy tariff by the crowd. Each evening of a Games, punishments at the whipping posts would be handed out to the losers of the day’s contests. A good, brave loser could get the crowd to turn their thumbs up at only ten or fifteen lashes. A girl who went down and stayed down early on could wait till the tally had reached twenty or thirty lashes before she got the thumbs up.

Anna’s opponent looked back at her over her shoulder, her eyes wide and expectant. Anna marched in and delivered another blow up between her legs, her fist sinking slightly into the soft flesh. The girl went up onto tip toes and shrieked but Anna saw the shudder run through her and knew she had had a small orgasm. But somehow she hung on and managed to turn around so that at least she was presenting more than one target to Anna, who was almost out of her mind in the noise and excitement. Her own labia had peeled open and she could feel her own studs digging into them as they engorged – and they engorged all the more because of it. Without thinking she threw a left to the breasts, followed up with a right to the stomach and then brought her left back up between the spread and trembling thighs.

The girl went down immediately, writhing erotically, and the referee – who was only there in case either girl tried to throw a head punch, which was forbidden, opened the door and stepped in to hold Anna’s hand up. Then one of her guards came in, clipped her cuffs on and put them behind her back, then attached her tongue lead and led her out. Another guard threw cold water over the defeated girl and started dragging her out by her ankles. As she was led away, Anna looked up at the seats around the cages. She could see women with their shirts and blouses torn open, or T shirts yanked up, their breasts being mauled by hands, sometimes their own she realised. Some were being taken from behind as they bent over the seats in front, some were on their knees and reaping the rewards of the excitement that she had helped cause. From the other cages came thumps and cries and groans as the second afternoon of the Games was in full swing. Then she had to stand still and with her legs apart for a moment or two while people – of both sexes – who had paid for the privilege, wiped cloths over her breasts and between her thighs, gathering her sweat and scent for savouring later. Her studded thong, unwashed and straight from her body would be sold on the internet.

She was led along a Perspex tunnel between banks of seats and then underneath them until they reached the Proteus team’s dressing room. Inside was the controlled chaos that Anna was beginning to realise was the normal state for a team in the middle of a show.

They had arrived in East Anglia, the guards had told them that much, by mid afternoon on the day they had left their base. They had heard cars tooting their horns in support as the trucks had gone up the motorways and they had been unloaded at the East Angels’ arena in time to be put in their quarters and to rest for a while before taking part in the opening parade in the evening. For the first time, Anna had seen the people who actually owned the Proteus stable, there were four of them. Three men and one woman, they stood on an open cart and were hauled into the arena by their slaves. Anna recognised the woman as the one who had spoken to her at the auction. They smiled and waved as the slaves were lashed onwards dragging the heavy cart over the hard earth. The noise and excitement that came from the crowds as over two hundred naked slaves toiled into the arena, with the whips cracking and smacking, connected directly to Anna’s sex and as she was leaning forwards, dragging on her rope, her face was close to rear of the girl in front – and she could smell that she wasn’t alone in being aroused by her humiliation.

The first day had been taken up with various combinations of girls battling out on the arena floor. The stars had been in action too with studded whips. The first chariot heats had been run and in the afternoon the mass log pull had taken place. In the evening, Anna Chatham had been hired out and for the first time began to experience the full range of dungeon equipment. The pinwheels run over recently flogged flesh were a revelation, the screw clamps on her nipples and labia drove her to squirt time and again. And when she was finally allowed to rest after the four men who had hired her had finished with her, she felt utterly at ease with being led back to her bunk in the barracks and being chained down for the night.

In the morning of the second day, she had fought in a group with whips and nets against a group with staves and whips. It had been a good fight and they had won narrowly. Then she had rested until the boxing.

Now she was braced against a wall as her boxing corset was unlaced and eased off her sweating torso. She looked down proudly at the broad curves of her breasts and noted that the usual craters left by the studs were a little deeper as the result of her first real fight. In training they used lighter fist weights and blunter studs. The guard then untied the laces that kept up the thong and eased that off, gently ungluing it from her saturated cunt. He chuckled as he saw the dark stains on the leather in between the metal studs.

“That’ll fetch a good price! You’re a natural, AC!” he told her. ‘AC’ had become her nickname – taken from her tattoo - once the ‘Lady Muck’ tag had become tired and inappropriate as she had blended into the team.

She was taken to a bench at the back of the room and shackled there until she was needed again. She was able to watch as more of the studded whip duellers were brought in and it was impossible to gather whether they had won or lost, they all looked battered beyond belief, mostly they made it under their own steam however and were soon being worked on by the vet, who calmly announced they’d be perfectly okay after a short rest. She watched with complete envy as they were pulled along the examination tables so that their heads hung down and they were given a length of good hard cock to suck on while the vet – a hard faced woman with iron grey hair, dabbed at them with disinfectant.

As the fights in the pens came to an end, the crowd began to make its way back to the arena proper for the pursuit running. A guard came over to her and took her legs one at a time, bracing them straight out with her foot on his thigh. He gave each leg a good pummelling and a rough massage.

“Come on, girl!” he said. “You’re first out.”

With her hands still cuffed behind her she was led out of the room on her tongue leash whilst all around her, girls were being patched up and rested or rubbed down and got ready for events later in the day.

There were three of them from the squad and one of the solo fighters lined up for the pursuit running and they were taken to one end of the arena – again by passages passing under the terraces which thundered and creaked above them, showering them with dust. All four were tongue tethered to a row of hooks set beside a wooden door. Beside them was a partition and beyond it they could see a man’s torso, it was one of the Proteus guards, and the head of the horse he was mounted on. The home team was going first so the four Proteans could only stand as easily as they could and wait.

They heard the starting pistol and the cheers, then the door to the horse’s stall slammed open and the horse galloped away. Anna’s heart was pounding; she could envisage the scene out on the arena floor, she had been drilled well and knew how this event went, she could imagine precisely how the fleeing slavegirl would be ridden down and subdued. It was just a matter of time. But exactly how much time was the question.

There was a sudden roar and Anna knew the girl was down. As the junior in the Proteus squad, she would go first and as a horseman from the East Angels’ stable manoeuvred into the stall, a guard unclipped her tongue leash and freed her hands, removing the cuffs at the same time. Then he pushed her into a small, high-sided wooden cubicle.

“Good luck!” he whispered and locked the door behind him. Anna could only see upwards and she could only see the curve of the stadium roof going ahead of her on both sides and only hear the expectant buzz of the crowd. The first run had been a short one. Could she do better? It was the question the whole arena was asking. Anna licked her lips as she saw the starter climb his podium, which made him visible to her, and she adopted the ‘ready’ position. She concentrated on the silhouette of the pistol he held up. As he pulled the trigger, a guard also pulled a lever that slammed open the door of her stall. Anna’s training kicked in and before she fully knew it she was out and running. Immediately the roar of the crowd engulfed her and helped her to focus on the job in hand and to forget that she ran naked in front of millions of spectators worldwide. Even as she pounded along the packed earth with the wind in her hair and feeling her nipples harden in the chilly breeze, she caught a glimpse of herself on one of the giant screens, hung from the stadium roof. She grinned fiercely, no one could accuse her of being a clothes horse now! Her breasts bounced and swayed as her long legs carried her towards the end of the barrier that had been set up to run down the length of the arena floor. Once she reached that, it would be game on!

Chapter Twelve

The drive from The Lodge to the East Angels’ arena was not too long and so Brian Holden set out after breakfast, knowing he would get there to see what he needed to in plenty of time. He took his current submissive with him. She was a leggy blonde and had come to CSL as a volunteer groom. As soon as the car had pulled onto the road, he had her lift her skirt and begin to play with the sweet little cunt that nestled at the top of her long, tanned thighs. He reckoned to pull off somewhere about halfway and have a blow job from her. He always found the relaxed feeling that came from being sucked helped him when he was assessing girlflesh in the arenas.

And it was vital that he was on top form at the moment.

The video conference between him, Peter Lang and Clive Mostyn had been brief and to the point. They had to start putting together the best Demolition Derby team the arenas could provide as soon as they could. They all agreed that the majority of stables would hedge their bets by supplying both sides, if they were asked, once they knew about the challenge and that Andrews was taking it on, so Mostyn’s camp needed to steal a march. Peter had already called the Prince of Bakhtar and he was sending across a selection of fast, athletic but well built slaves. The Orange stable had promised some slight but wiry oriental girls, and Brian knew how they would be employed. Together with some from his old friend Salazar and the bulk of the Proteus stable, he was pretty confident he could field a good enough troop to bother anyone. But in Demolition Derby there were two positions on the team that were vital and so far he hadn’t seen what he needed, but the Proteus stable had taken delivery of some new blood and he thought it had to be worth checking out. Although he couldn’t understand why Holroyd had splashed out so extravagantly on an ex-clothes horse!

He pulled over into a lay-by as the East Anglian countryside lay flat and tedious in front of him and had Susanne come round to his side of the car, kneel on the tarmac and suck him as he sat sideways in the driver’s seat. Her blonde hair bobbed up and down busily and then settled as she swallowed him down. He gave up the unequal struggle as his helm was caressed from all sides by the close confines of her throat and he rammed his hand down onto the back of her head and fucked her face as well as his position allowed while he emptied his balls into her.

Now, as his breathing regained its normal rhythm and as Susanne, looking flushed and happy resumed her seat, he felt he was in a fit state to assess the goods on offer dispassionately and they drove on.

He had a pass for the Owners and Trainers’ car park and was able to go straight to the Owner’s box. He knew he’d missed the pens, but he wasn’t bothered about them so much, it was the pursuit running that he felt would show him what he wanted – or not. He settled himself behind the Angels’ owner who was busy with some domestic slaves, not wanting to get drawn into the social side of things. Susanne he sent to help the home team’s stable staff.

The theory of pursuit running was simple. A naked girl was released from a stall at one end of the arena, she ran hell for leather to the far end of a wooden barrier that had been erected along the length of the arena floor, as she rounded it and began to come back a horseman was released from the same end she had started from. He had a stock whip with a weighted end and his job was to pursue her and bring her down as soon as he could. The fewer lengths she could complete the better for his stable. For the girl, the opposite held true of course. It wasn’t as one sided as it appeared, the turns were tight and the horse always took time to get up to full speed, but even so it took nerve, speed and quick wits on the part of the naked and vulnerable girl.

It was these qualities Brian was looking for.

The first girl out of the traps was a home team girl who was pursued by an experienced horseman from the Proteus stable. She was a brunette with a slender build who ran fast enough and was nearly at the end of her second length by the time the horse was turning at the end of the first but she tired quickly and was brought down with a well-executed lash that wrapped her thighs before she could complete five lengths. She went down in a cloud of dust, skidding helplessly and the cameras replayed the action gleefully as the horseman reined in and dismounted to claim his prize. The girl had just got her arms under her and was trying to sit up when he reached her and the crowd watched to see which way he would take her. He simply reached down, grabbed a fistful of thick hair and with his other hand undid his flies. His cock was still quite relaxed as he took it out and immediately, with one doe-eyed glance of devotion up at him, the defeated girl began to lick her conqueror’s cock to full erection and then to gently take him between her soft lips. The crowd cheered as they watched on the giant screens as her face slid along his length and then withdrew to show the glistening column of hard flesh emerging from her mouth. Then she ducked back in and began to urge him onwards towards his climax.

Brian thought that if her trainers had coached her in pursuit running as well as they had in fellatio, she might still be running.

Down on the floor of the arena the man held the girl’s face hard against his groin as he came, jerking as he pumped his spend into her. She took him down smoothly and the man held his thumb out pointing upwards when she had finished cleaning him. It meant that if she was sent to the whipping posts that evening, it wouldn’t be for her lack of finesse at cock sucking.

Then it was the turn of the Proteus stable to send out their first girl.

“Next up is Number One One Two from the Proteus team,” the PA announced to good natured jeering from the home crowd. “Some of you might know her from her days as a free woman!” he went on to growing cheers as the crowd realised who they were going to see. “Let’s see how well she does on this catwalk shall we?”

There was a massive cheer at the prospect of seeing Anna Chatham sliding naked through the dust and then taking her conqueror on her hands and knees, or taking him in the mouth, kneeling in front of him.

The starting pistol went and the stall door slammed open. A tall, graceful figure came racing out, light brown hair swinging, breasts bouncing, legs pumping. At once Brian sat forwards. He was experienced enough to know a talented runner when he saw one. She covered the ground in long, easy strides, seeming to run over the ground rather than across it. As she shortened her stride and negotiated the first turn, the horse was released. Brian immediately checked out the rider who looked to be an experienced one. But by the time the horse had negotiated the first turn, Anna Chatham was turning at the far end and showing no signs of flagging.

The fleeing, naked figure made four lengths before the horse was close enough for the rider to unship his coiled whip. Half way along the boarding on her fifth length he leaned out of the saddle and swung the whip. It should have been a pinning lash but somehow she had seen it coming and flattened herself against the boarding. The weighted tip which should have wrapped her legs and brought her down, smacked harmlessly into the wood beside her and the whip fell away, leaving nothing but an attractive welt across her thighs. Meanwhile the horse had careered onwards and before anyone in the stadium – including Brian – had fully realised what she was doing, the girl had followed it out onto the open floor of the arena. Instead of fleeing she was now pursuing; she was dodging and weaving right behind its hindquarters, where the rider couldn’t see her and where the horse couldn’t face her, no matter how tightly its head was wrenched around. The strange duo wheeled and dodged while the crowd began to alter its loyalties and Brian heard a few chants of ‘Aay Cee! Aay Cee!’ begin.

He sat back grinning broadly. It was just possible that she could go for a time out. It was almost unheard of but if a girl could stay upright for five minutes she would earn ten invaluable bonus points for her team plus her score of lengths run. Either Scott Holroyd’s training was the best in the business or this girl was the most naturally talented performer the arenas had seen since Blondie herself.

Eventually the horseman realised that he had to gallop away from his tormentor, put some distance between them, then turn and resume the chase, but as soon as he dug his heels into his mount and set off, the girl was off again as well, back to the boarding, swinging round the end to complete her fifth length and she had made another before the horse was lined up again. Once more she managed to throw a glance behind her at the critical moment and this time threw herself forwards under the lash, somersaulted, and came up still going flat out as the horse once again had to wheel and turn, but this time the rider didn’t make the mistake of staying close enough for her to get in behind him. But as a consequence he swung wide and she had made a seventh length before he came again, swinging in from out wide to bring her down at the turn by cutting across her as she slowed to make the turn. He came in at full tilt with the crowd gasping in anticipation as he leaned out, and swung the whip again, going for her calves this time – a sure pinning lash.

Brian found himself on his feet and cheering her, along with the rest of the crowd as she reached out, grasped the newel post at the end of the boarding and swung herself round with her feet clear of the ground while the lash whispered past just inches beneath her flying legs. Then she was off again, still showing no signs of flagging.

The cameras caught the look of grim fury on the rider’s face as once again he had to rein in and start all over again while an eighth and ninth length were completed. Suddenly heads began to turn to the clock above the slaves’ entrance to the arena. A time out was on the cards for the first time since the great days of Blondie herself. Brian reckoned she had two minutes to go. A chant began to swell from all corners of the arena;

“Ace! Ace! Ace!” The two letters of her nickname had been elided into a name that Brian knew with absolute clarity in that moment would stay with the girl forever.

But now the horseman was closing in again and on the giant screens the girl was visibly tiring at last, her running looking ragged and sweat flying from her. The horse too was lathered now and giving the rider problems as the constant jerking to its mouth shortened its temper. But once again it was coming from straight behind her. Some girls, Brian knew, would look behind them and wobble away from the boarding, allowing the rider to get between her and it and get a clean shot at her legs. But this girl still wasn’t panicking, she was still thinking. She kept close to the boarding as she was overtaken but this time the rider had lost patience, or maybe he had just lost his accuracy and the lash smacked home across her back. The thud of the weight landing between her shoulder blades was audible even to Brian.

There was a gasp of indrawn breath from the crowd. It wasn’t against the rules as such, it was just not done for a rider to go for such a soft target. Brian knew there would be formal complaints in the Owners’ Council, but for now the crowd watched as Anna Chatham’s head and arms snapped back and she went down in a cloud of dust. The horse wheeled away and the rider relaxed beginning to rein his mount in, but there was a sudden surge of cheering and the cries for ‘Ace!’ began again, her body had hardly stopped tumbling in the dirt before she was staggering back to her feet. Moving stiffly and weaving slightly, she made her turn and set off again, gaining speed as her wind returned. Behind her the rider, who had almost dismounted, now had to settle himself again and gather his reins once more. The expression on his face was murderous as he set off to run her down by whatever means it took. The chants for ‘Ace!’ were piercing humiliation to him.

Anna’s heart was thundering and her breath was rasping and gulping in her throat but she had never felt so alive, every inch of her body felt the vibrations of the arena, and inside her she was responding to the raw sexuality of the event. Dimly she could hear the chanting from the crowd and felt deep down that it was for her. She didn’t know where the tactics had come from, Holroyd certainly had taught her about sticking close to the boards for as long as she could, but as for the rest, it had just seemed natural. It had all seemed to come together, her nudity, the threat of the whip and the towering horse, the eager crowds and the challenge of avoiding defeat. But even as she staggered along the boards, her back burning from the last lash, she smiled inwardly, she was in for a monumental fuck when her pursuer caught up with her. She tried to see the clock – time outs had been mentioned but not made too much of, they were beyond most girls’ reach – but sweat and tears blinded her. She tried to glance behind and made out the bulky shape of the horse and she could hear its hooves drumming on the hard earth. She swallowed. She had to make it somehow, she was going to stay out for the full five minutes. Gathering herself for one more effort and loving the feeling of discovering she had yet more strength, she swung round the post again just as the whip whistled past her shoulders.

Before her vision everything was now lurching and swaying as she staggered on. Again she heard the horse approaching but refused to give in and run from it into the open ground. Instead she pressed herself to the boarding and tried to spin along it. The whip caught her across the breasts, the weighted tip slamming into her right underarm, but she was still upright and staggering on, making another turn. The horse came back, from in front this time, she realised too late. The lash wrapped right round her back and the weight took her with a heavy thud in the pit of her stomach. She went down and her face hit the ground hard but from somewhere a long way off she heard a siren wailing. There was a lot of crowd noise and suddenly a hand was in her hair and a hard cock was thrusting into her gasping mouth. She tried to retch and splutter but it was hopeless, he wanted to fuck her face while all she needed was air. It wasn’t fair! She had earned a good fuck on all fours, she couldn’t enjoy a blow job in this state. But she was given no choice and the cruelty and injustice of it kicked in finally so the crowd was treated to huge close ups of Anna Chatham – now irrevocably Ace - hollowing her cheeks and sucking on her pursuer’s cock while slo-mo replays of her historic first run proved that the time out siren had sounded while she was falling but before she had hit the ground.